


Starting Over

by meetmebackat221bbakerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetmebackat221bbakerstreet/pseuds/meetmebackat221bbakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was not a bad man, not by any means. But somehow, the world seemed cruel enough to take away his best friend, and then his wife. With his two loves gone, he could hardly stand life anymore. One day, on the third anniversary of Sherlock's death, he visits his grave. What he was not expecting was his past to come back from the dead. <br/>(Prompt given to me through Tumblr)<br/>Prompt: How about post Mary, Sherlock coming back, Johnlock, John saying something along the lines of "why are you alive and not her" or something and super angsty and happy ending :3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starting Over

John was falling apart. And that was only putting in lightly. John Watson, the strong soldier, the loyal blogger to a now dead consulting detective, a loving husband to a dead woman, could not cope properly with his losses.

John didn't think he was a bad man, sure he had shot some men down, 27, to be exact, but he only did it when absolutely necessary. He had make mistakes but always corrected them and tired harder. He was a man who soldiered on when the going got tough. John Watson was not a bad man. But a man whom bad things always happened to. After the death of his best friend, he was torn and everything he lived for was taken away. He had felt as he did after he came back from the war, but a thousand times worse.

After months on mourning, he finally met a woman, her name Mary Morstan. She was every thing that John ever wanted in a wife: Kind, faithful, funny, beautiful and she even wanted a family. On their first date, he went back and spent the night at her house, they didn't sleep together, but talked about anything and everything until the sun came up.

She was the only one who knew about the bond between Sherlock and himself. And the only one who accepted it. She understood there was a part of him that always belonged to Sherlock, but that didn't mean he couldn't love Mary.

After about a year and a half after Sherlock’s death, and a year after dating Mary, John proposed to her and she had of course, said yes. The wedding was small, just close family and friends and they had a small gathering. John couldn't help but feel that day was bittersweet, he had wanted his best friend as his best man. Lestrade was a good one, but he would never be Sherlock.

John and Mary were blissfully happy for one year. They went to bed together and woke up in each other’s arms, they took walks together, ate dinner and watched telly together. For the first time in a lone while, both had felt almost at peace.

Until Mary was suddenly killed by a drunk driver.

John felt his whole world fall apart all over again. He had watched his best friend die, and his wife. He had wondered why God was being so cruel. He didn't ask for much, just a quiet life with his wife and hopefully children, but it all had been ripped away from him. Two of the people who he had loved with all of his heart, gone. Mrs. Hudson let John move back into Baker Street a few weeks after Mary died, he couldn't bare to be in their house any longer, and at least he was going somewhere warm and familiar. When he got there, however, all he felt was cold and empty. This place just wasn't the same without Sherlock running around the flat. He felt a wave of utter sadness wash over him as he sat down in his old chair. Nothing seemed right anymore. Nothing was worth it. And he had no idea how to go about living anymore.

Luckily, he still dragged himself out of the flat and to the clinic to work. He knew Mrs. Hudson was being kind enough to let him stay in 221B for half the rent, so the least he could do was not be a pest at home.

When John woke up one morning, he knew the day. It was the third year anniversary of Sherlock’s death. Every year, he would go to his grave and catch Sherlock up on every part of his life. It was the only time he would go visit him, John didn’t think he could stand for more. After Mary came along, she used to accompany him to the cemetery, but never to his actual grave. She understood what this meant to him, to be there talking with his best friend. John had loved him, hell, probably close to in love. And he knew that Mary knew that as well, and he couldn’t have been more thankful for her not to bring that up.

He willed himself out of bed, the heaviness in his heart still very much there. He quickly showered and dressed and walked out the front door to get a cab. He felt a tightness in his stomach the whole way there. He had so much to say but didn’t know how, he was afraid tears would spill if he even opened his mouth.

John threw the money at the cabbie and quickly got out the cab and to Sherlock’s grave. It was a simple head stone that just read: Sherlock Holme’s. John like to imagine that there was a, “World’s most annoying dick” at the end. Just for the fun of it.

John shifted his feet as he stood in front of the grave, “Er, hi, Sherlock. So, a lot has happened in the past year. Um, Mary… She’s, er, dead. She’s dead Sherlock. And so are you. Both of you are dead. My two greatest loves, just gone. And, um, I know you expect to to just soldier on but the truth is, every day is getting harder and harder to wake up and I’ve always been sure you couldn’t die of a broken heart, but I’m starting to rethink that.”

He took a deep breath, “Okay. Sorry, sentiment, I know. Jesus, I can’t even help it anymore. I can’t be like you, Sherlock. Look as if I didn’t care. I just, I need something that shows that my life isn’t meaningless as it feels. You can understand that, can’t you?”

John sighed, stupid asking questions to a dead man anyways. Useless. It won’t solve a damn thing. Better to get on home and suck it up, like a soldier.

“If you would have asked me that three years ago, I would have said no, but now, I understand all too well.”

John’s heart thumped. He knew that voice. It rang in his sleep over and over again.

_Goodbye, John._

He couldn’t breathe. This can’t be true, surely not. Sherlock is dead. He though the was dreaming and pinched his skin. No, not dreaming. Dead? No, that’s illogical.

_Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable must be the truth._

“John.”

John took a deep breath and turned to face the man who he thought dead for three years, “Sherlock.”

He was dressed in his usual long coat with black trousers and a purple scarf. His hair was still dark and curly and his eyes still piercing blue. He had not changed. Accept all of the scratches and scars all over his face.

Sherlock opened him mouth to speak, stopped himself, and then continues once more, “I’m not entirely sure what to say. I’ve thought about this day on numerous occasions and couldn’t think of the right way to do this.”

John gave a dry chuckle, “What, you’ve been gone for three years, still alive while I stand over your grave, mourning you and you don’t know what to say? It’s only logical, Sherlock.”

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat. John was mad, very mad. He could see it all over his face, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m so-“

“Save it.”

Sherlock shut his mouth and looked away. John started to get really irritated. So here was Sherlock, alive and well and doing God knows what in these past three years. Sherlock Holmes, risen from the dead. There are so many people who would wish for this opportunity and would be thankful but the only thing John feels is a sense of betrayal, confusion, and it just not being fucking fair.

“You… You jumped. I saw you fucking jump. You went on the dammed roof and you let it all go. You let go of what you and me worked for. You stayed dead for three fucking years. You didn’t try to contact me. Nothing. I know you were listening to what I was saying just a few minutes ago, I lost Mary. My dammed wife, Sherlock. I loved her and I would do anything to bring her back because when she died, it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t choose to be hit by a drunk driver. You chose to jump.”

John was panting, chest rising and falling, he felt light headed. He couldn’t help but think of the unfairness of it all. Sherlock getting to come back but Mary still dead.

_Dead. Mary. Dead. Sherlock still alive. Doesn’t make sense_.

_“Why are you alive and not her? What makes you get to live?_ What makes you so damn special that you get to waltz back into my life? Tell me, dammit! Give me a reason to not just write you off as good as dead again.”

Sherlock felt like someone had kicked him repeatedly in the stomach. Over and over until he couldn’t breathe. He felt his heart in his own chest breaking. Why was John not happy to see him? Why was he so angry?

“John, I did what I had to do to protect you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. You were all going to die if I hadn’t jumped.”

“But you made me watch! You want to go and off yourself, that’s fine and dandy but now the war doesn’t give me nightmares anymore, it’s you, Sherlock. It’s you falling from the dammed roof and seeing your body hit the ground, all bloody. It’s you I couldn’t save. It’s Mary I couldn’t save. I-“

John stopped himself, he couldn’t speak anymore. He felt dizzy and overwhelmed and he didn’t know how to control his emotions. He felt himself lean against Sherlock’s grave and tries to catch his breath.

Sherlock took a step forward to John but didn’t reach out to him completely, knowing his limits, “John, I am sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry you had to watch. I’m sorry I left you without a word. I’m sorry I haven’t tried to contact you. I’ve been trying to take down Moriarty’s web and that took more time than I thought. Most of all, I’m sorry about Mary. I knew how much you loved her and how much she gave to you. She loved you more than I could and gave you more than I will be able to.”

John shook his head, “No, no. No. Sherlock. You don’t get it. Mary was right for me in every way, so much that she was wrong for me. I loved her so much. She was everything I’ve been dreaming about since I was little. A kind woman who wanted a family. When I entered the army, I knew I would never have that life because it wasn’t for me. Then I met you and you turned my world upside down. I was okay with just being your blogger for the rest of my life. And then I had to go back to the old dream once you died.”

Sherlock looked at him in confusion, “But you loved her.”

“Of course I bloody did! She was the only woman who understood the bond between me and you and didn’t let it get in the way. It’s not like you could compete with her since you were dead. She knew, the whole time that I loved her, I loved you more. I always did and I always will. But she… She was safe and I was going to be fine and come to terms with your death but you’re here now and I have no idea what to do.”

“Nor do I.”

They stared at each other. It was curious as to how each man could just stand there calmly, without even flinching at the fact that they admitted their love to each other. But that was the great thing about Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, their love didn’t need to be expressed in words. They knew they loved each other with every ounce of their hearts. Sherlock had thought he had lost that because of Mary. But he could now see, he was mistaken. John Watson never seemed to stop surprising him.

“I don’t know where we go from here, John. I understand why you are mad and confused. I left you and nothing will ever make me forgive myself for that. I also understand that we can’t pick up where we left off. But if you would like, I would like very much to start over again. I missed you so much, John.”

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Here was a his love, risen from the dead, this wonderful chance that he had the right to take. He knew he should still be mad, but hearing those words spill from the detective was more than proof of his love for John. It would take time, the men would soon learn how to live with each other again and learn to depend on one another. There would be tears shed and screams throughout the nights of dreams that plagued them, but there would be arms to hold them safely away from the demons. They would make love, giggle at crime scenes and grow old together.

John smiled, “Well, I’m not shooting a cabbie again for you.”

Sherlock laughed, real and genuine, the kind that reached the eyes, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Doctor Watson. Dinner?”

_“Starving.”_


End file.
